


Spring

by CedarTheBarefoot



Series: Up On the Homestead [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arthur “Big Dick” Morgan, Banter, Bottom John Marston, Domestic Fluff, Homestead AU, M/M, Making Love, Mild Kink, Mild S&M, Morning Kisses, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Sleepy!Arthur, Top Arthur Morgan, bottom!John, top!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CedarTheBarefoot/pseuds/CedarTheBarefoot
Summary: Arthur Morgan, you could sleep through an earthquake.John glanced out the window. It was more than an hour after dawn, and still Arthur slept.While John had been content to stay an early riser, Arthur had kicked the habit. For the majority of his life, he was one of the first to awake. He had always provided for the camp. Without Arthur’s protection and care, they wouldn’t have made it as far as they did.





	Spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is self-indulgent. as. HELL. I’m still loitering in Chapter 3, and I’m getting a sinking feeling. So, of course I had to write something where things are pretty much okay. Please enjoy.

As the orange light seeped through the eastern facing window in the loft, John awoke. He always woke up right around dawn. Didn’t really matter what time he went to bed. It seemed that he just couldn’t shake the habits of a hard life of sleeping exposed and on the run. 

He didn’t mind. He liked waking up with the dawn. It was partly why he wanted the bedroom loft facing East. He could almost imagine that the morning light shining through the window was shining through cool canvas. The singing birds only aided the fantasy.

But that life was long past. 

John opened his eyes and held a hand up against the dawn’s light. He slid from the bed, very carefully replacing the covers as he did. He reached out for the jeans he’d left on the floor last night and stepped into them. He pulled them up as he stood and closed the buttons. 

He moved to the window, leaning a hand on the frame. The dawn painted the treetops a warm orange, and the rest of the visible sky a soft purple. It hadn’t snowed in weeks. It was starting to really feel warm again. Spring had fought tooth and nail to get here, but it was here. 

With a soft smile, John brushed his long hair back away from his face. He wondered if it was going to rain again today. Only another couple of weeks and he’d be able to start planting. Biting back a yawn, John tiptoed over to the steep stairs and climbed down from the loft. 

Once on the main floor of the cabin, he was almost immediately greeted by the sound of nails clacking against the wood floors. A blue tick hound came bounding over from where he had been lying on the rug next to the fireplace. His tail was wagging something fierce. John dutifully reached down to give the dog a scratch between the ears, “Mornin’, Beau.” He grunted quietly. 

John’s history with canines wasn’t the most wholesome. He got along alright with Beau, and he saw the benefits of having him around. 

He just preferred cats.

He watched as Beau danced over by the door, hopping slightly to indicate his need to go out. “By all means,” John whispered, opening the door. The dog took off like a shot, his nose to the ground to begin his search for a proper place to do his business. “And you stay away from them chickens, you mongrel!”

He closed the door, went over to the stove, and got to work getting a fire going in it. The kindling crate was getting low again. John made a mental note to refill it at some point today. The wood was dry and caught easily though. Soon enough, he had a good fire going. He went about assembling the percolator for some coffee. 

The was a faint meow somewhere off behind John. He smiled and looked over his shoulder, finding the brown, furry source. “Well, good mornin’ Miss Grimshaw.” John said politely as the cat padded over to him. She rubbed against his legs and accepted his attention when he reached down to stroke her. 

When he did, she placed a mouse at his feet. Whilst licking her chops, she gazed up at him with her critical green eyes. He chuckled, “I’ll stick with coffee. But thanks.” He then left the coffee to boil, put on a coat and stepped into his boots. 

Beau came bounding over as John left the cabin. He moved so quickly that his paws didn’t even touch the stairs as he leapt up onto the small porch. Miss Grimshaw followed him out before he could close the door and sat near one of the rocking chairs with her kill. Beau went over to do his customary sniff, and in return, she gave him a swat upside the snout. 

Knowing his place, the dog backed off, left her to her meal and followed John. 

He was already filling a basket with eggs from the chicken coop. He got pecked a few times for his troubles, the ladies obviously feeling a little agitated. John cast a glare in Beau’s direction, knowing that he’d probably ruffled their feathers when he’d been let out. The dog looked innocently up at him, smiling and panting. 

He brought the eggs back inside. The coffee was boiling on the stove. Picking up a rag, John slid it from the heat and set a pot of water over it instead. He added another little block of wood to the fire and went back outside. 

Beau was at his heels again as he went to the barn next. The horses were stirring in their stalls, nickering for attention. “Mornin’ everyone!” He called, patting the twelve noses that leaned out to nudge him as he passed. 

There was an agitated moo from the end stall. 

“Yeah, I hear you!” John called, rolling his eyes at the answering, indignant moo. Beau started lapping at the cool water in one of the troughs, keeping out of the way. John went about setting fresh hay and feed to each of the stalls. The horses were grateful. The pig was delighted at the old squash and yesterday’s cold oatmeal. The cow in the end stall was judgemental as she ate her hay. She turned around, knocking over her new calf as John entered. 

“Hey now, Amelia, be careful.” 

The cow shook her head as John settled down to milk her. Her new calf jealousy paced back and forth. The little bastard was only two weeks old, but he was already an ornery pain in the ass. He at least had good haunches already. _Might make good beef one day_ , John thought.

The calf butted him, nearly knocking him to the dirty barn floor. “Hey! You know what, I can’t wait to contemplate all the ways I’m gonna eat you, you son of a bitch.” John gave the calf a shove as he moved to stand with the bucket of milk. “All yours, you little shit.” The calf went right for Amelia’s udders. She sighed in agitation, pawing at the ground with her hind leg as John left the stall. 

Deeming the morning chores done for now, John headed back to the cabin. As he climbed up the steps, Miss Grimshaw was waiting at the door for him, cleaning her paws. John glanced around for Beau. When he didn’t immediately see him, he gave a whistle. And out came the damn mutt, flying from the chicken coop towards the cabin leaving a trail of small feathers behind him.

“God damnit, you asshole! What did I say?!” He aimed a half-hearted kick at the dog as he came bounding up the stairs. It wasn’t actually meant to hurt or hit him. Beau dodged around him with a happy bark, thinking he was playing. “Stop that, you damn fool,” John grunted as he opened the door, “go lay down.” 

Beau was a menace, but at least he was obedient. He went right over to the rug in front of the fireplace and laid down to pout. John heaved a sigh, and took off his boots and coat at the door. After setting the bucket of milk down on the table, he covered it with a cloth. 

The pot of water on the stove was boiling fast.

John quickly took it off the heat and felt the percolator with the back of his hand. Still hot. He poured himself a cup. As he slowly sipped, he watched Miss Grimshaw agiley climb the stairs up to the loft. Beau looked on jealousy, watching the cat disappear from his view. He wasn’t good at climbing the stairs up to the loft. The dog had fallen down the stairs the first time he attempted to climb them and was always hesitant to approach them thereafter. 

That suited John just fine. 

From the pantry John took out some oats, dried venison and a jar of strawberry preserves from last summer, and went about making breakfast. Every so often, he glanced up at the loft. Miss Grimshaw was perched near the edge, keeping an eye on him from her improved vantage point. Beau whined quietly as the smell of sweet oatmeal and venison filled the cabin. It had been dried from the last hunt. A little boiling water softened it right up. For the last bit, he cooked up a few of the eggs he’d gotten from the coop. 

He shot a glare over at Beau when he whined again. “You can wait.” 

Soon enough, the oatmeal was ready, the venison was tender and the eggs were cooked. Out of pity, John scraped some of the large meal into a bowl and set it on the floor. Beau sat up, licking at his chops excitedly, but didn’t move. He knew the rules. 

John decided to test the dog’s obedience and used some of the leftover hot water to wash himself up with some soap.

Heaving a sigh, he promised himself that he would run a bath this week. The tub wasn’t anything fancy. It was practically a wooden trough, but it suited its purpose. And it was big enough for two.

As he dried himself, he looked over at Beau who was sitting quietly. A string of drool hung from the side of his mouth. John grimaced but nodded, “Good dog. Come get it.”

Beau got up, tail wagging the whole time as he trotted over to eat. John looked up at the loft again. Miss Grimshaw was still settled at the edge, with her eyes closed. There was no other movement. With a sigh, John picked up the meal and carefully climbed up to the loft. 

It was lit well by the sunlight streaming through the window. He could hear quiet snoring, and soft tufts of dark blond hair stuck out from beneath the blankets on the bed. The nights were still sort of cold, but spring was here. They only kept two blankets spread over the bed now, with a well-cared for elk fur on top. 

Smiling, John set breakfast on the side table, careful of the oil lamp. He looked at the sleeping form in the bed that he had been so careful not to disturb earlier. _Arthur Morgan, you could sleep through an earthquake._ He glanced out the window. It was more than an hour after dawn, and still Arthur slept.

While John had been content to stay an early riser, Arthur had kicked the habit. For the majority of his life, he was one of the first to awake. He had always provided for the camp. Without Arthur’s protection and care, they wouldn’t have made it as far as they did. 

John certainly didn’t mind. It meant he could take care of things for once. And also see the peacefulness of sleep on Arthur’s face. His eyelashes were spread out over his cheekbones. Stubble darkened his jaw. His hair was certainly not as long as John’s, but it had been a while since he’d seen a proper barber. 

Unable to resist, John slid under the blankets, and slotted himself against Arthur’s side. There was a long intake of breath as he awoke. Blue eyes cracked opened and looked sleepily at John who was only a breath’s width away. 

John closed the distance, and pressed a kiss over the dry but soft mouth. It was slow, but insistent. He pulled away after a long, blissful moment, and whispered, “Your breath is awful.” 

Arthur scoffed, reaching down to nudge John’s hands away from his bare ribs. “And yer fuckin’ cold.”

John hummed, reaching to comb his fingers back through Arthur’s hair. “Warm me up then.” He said, kissing him again.

“Puttin’ me to work, Marston?” The blond murmured, stroking his hands down John’s flanks to take two handfuls of his arse.

“You callin’ me a chore?” John asked, pulling away, play-acting at indignance. Arthur chuckled, and rolled them both so John was lying on his back and himself on top. “You ain’t got a clue.” He murmured before kissing him. John knew that their breakfast was going to get cold if they continued as they were. 

He didn’t care. 

Arthur sucked and licked his way along John’s throat. He set his teeth to his nape, and nipped along his collarbone. This drew long, unabashed moans from the man. He had no reason to be quiet anymore. No reason to stifle how he felt. How Arthur made him feel. 

This was _their_ homestead. 

“Listen to ya,” Arthur drawled reverently while wrapping a bold hand around the crotch of John’s jeans and squeezing, hard. “Ah!” was the resulting cry. Arthur growled in satisfaction and set about divesting the man of his pants.

John lifted his hips compliantly, laughing as Arthur cursed when his jeans got bunched around an ankle. “You gotta wash these.” He grumbled, tossing them to the floor, “Smells like cow.” 

“Like your clothes smell like horse?” John smiled, moving to sit up so he could kiss his lover again. Arthur wasn’t having it. He pushed him back down and held him there with a firm hand settled at the base if his throat. 

“Comes with the job,” he said, straddling John’s thighs. Effectively immobilizing him. 

Arthur had a way with horses. So they put that to good use. Breeding, catching and training horses. He was good at it, and a few times in the summer, he made a good amount of money. 

John couldn’t help but imagine just then Arthur working an unruly horse in the paddock, shirt left on the fence. Under the sun. With a rope firmly held in his hand. 

Oh, was he looking forward to summer.

“ _Jesus_.” He gasped, as Arthur took both of their pricks into his hand and stroked them together. He looked down between their bodies, watching the calloused hand slide up and down. “Arthur, ohh,”

He pressed his hips up, trying for more friction. Arthur’s hand shifted from the base of his throat to grasp John by the jaw. “Don’t buck me now, keep still,”

John groaned in frustration, but quieted when his lover’s fingers slipped into his mouth. He sucked on them, and licked them as lecherously as he possibly could. Arthur smiled, pulling his hand away from the enthusiastic mouth to run it wetly down John’s chest, muscled from hard work. 

He rubbed under his frenulum with the other hand.

“Oh!” John gasped, “If you keep doin’ that, this’ll be over before it’s even started!” He whined, struggling to keep still. His legs tensed up from his toes to his thighs, and he reached down to push his lover’s hand away. 

A lock of blond hair fell across Arthur’s forehead as he focused those bright blue eyes on him. He tsked, shaking his head, “Now that would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it?” He gave his lover a hungry, knowing look.

John felt a shiver go down his spine. Sometimes Arthur could be insatiable, and curious at the same time. It was a dangerous mix. The last time he’d found his lover in a mood like that, he’d been held down and forced through seven orgasms. Seven orgasms over the course of a single afternoon and into the evening. Maybe give or take one...things got real hazy near the end there. 

However, it seemed Arthur was feeling merciful this morning. He leaned over to the bedside drawer and lifted out a small pot of petroleum. “Roll over,” he murmured, lifting himself to his knees and opening the pot. His cock hung heavily between his legs, reddened and hard with arousal. 

John licked his lips.

Arthur reached down to lewdly stroke himself. “The longer you admire it, the longer it’s not inside you, Marston.” He rumbled, blushing. 

John saw his point but still let himself admire a little. Light blond hair dusted over his belly and chest. He was built from the hard years on the run, the rigorous work that went into rearing horses and maintaining their little homestead. But there was now a little softness to him that came from three meals a day, shelter and stability. John loved him. Every part of him.

He leaned up to take the petroleum from Arthur and scooped out a more than generous amount. 

“That stuff’s precious, Marston,” he scolded with a half-hearted glare.

“I’m worth it,” John chuckled, laying back down to press a slick finger into his hole. Arthur smirked and cocked an eyebrow, “Not rollin’ over then?” 

John shook his head, adjusting his legs to get a better angle at himself. “Wanna hold you.” 

Arthur’s eyes softened. He shifted, leaning down to kiss him. It brought a little moan out of him. Arthur kissed him harder, dipping his tongue into his mouth. Teeth grazed over lips. They found the familiar way to breathe together. With combined effort, they had themselves properly frustrated and slicked up.

“C’mere, c’mere,” John panted, pulling him closer. He sucked on his lip, lifting his legs around the blond’s hips. 

Arthur lined himself up with John’s hole, and listened for a moment. John was breathing easy and deep, preparing himself for the intrusion. His hips jerked, revealing his impatience, “ _Arthur_.” Heels pressed against the small of his back, encouraging him in.

“Hold your horses, Marston.”

“Heh.”

“Shut up,” Arthur grunted with effort, tilting his hips, and pressed forward. John’s pulled in a deep breath, staring lovingly up into his eyes. He let out a rough sigh, gripping Arthur’s shoulders as he slowly pushed against the tight ring of muscle. 

Arthur was not a small man...in any way. In fact, he was rather large. In girth as well as length.

The head of his cock slipped in, and they groaned into each other’s mouths, clutching at one another. Arthur rocked his hips a bit, acclimating the both of them. He kissed John through the intrusion, stroking at his erection. Bit by bit, Arthur pressed deeper and deeper, but still not enough.

John shuddered, curling his fingers through the uncut blond hair, “More’s okay. Wanna feel you.”

Arthur shifted his knees closer, practically straddling the brunet. “Never get tired of this,” he groaned, easing his hips in to finally press firmly against John’s. 

“Ohhh, Arthur,” came the answering sigh.

“You all right?” Arthur breathed, cupping the back of John’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “Y-yeah,” he answered breathlessly, smiling. His belly felt warm. He felt full to brim, feeling every inch of Arthur in length and girth. 

They’d been making love together for years, but whenever John took it, he was always left gasping. The size of Arthur’s prick always felt familiar and he welcomed it. But no matter how aroused Arthur was, he could still leave John on tenterhooks, waiting a frustratingly long time to make sure he was ready.

He adjusted his grip on Arthur’s hair, squeezing him around the waist with his legs, “C’mon, then. Get to it.”

Arthur snorted, “I knew you was fixin’ to put me to work,” and followed it up with a sharp snap of his hips. It drove away any snarky comment John was about to make, and replaced it with a heaving moan.

“John Marston, you _are_ a chore,” Arthur grunted, picking up a steady pace. 

“Smart...ass,” John grunted back between thrusts. 

The blond chuckled and went back to kissing him. “I’ll make yours smart.” He threatened after a moment, running a hand down from John’s thigh. He found a bruised spot just under his right arse cheek, in the crease where it met his thigh. He gave it a sharp slap. The brunet jumped and cried out in pain. Arthur pinched the bruise. John yelped in surprise, “Ah!”

Arthur chuckled again, nipping at his lover’s lip, “Still a bit sore then?” John glowered, tightening his grip on the blond’s hair, “Take _ah!_ — a guess, ya curly wolf.” 

Instead of “taking a guess” as John suggested, Arthur went back to work making him shut up. He slipped John’s legs into the crook of his arms and they moved together. They cried out together, sharing firm, delirious kisses. 

“Oh! Oh m-ah! — Right there!” John rasped, his body tensing. He slipped a hand down between their bodies to frantically stroke at his cock. “ _Oh, Jesus!_ ”

Arthur dipped his hips low on his following thrusts, pushing up against that spot. Inside, tucked away. The sweet spot that made John feel like the bottom of his stomach dropped out. Made him tingle from his groin to the ends of his hair and down the tips of his toes. They didn’t know exactly what it was or why it made men feel the way they did, but they weren’t complaining. 

They were making love.

The sun was shining brightly through the clouds. The dawn had long since past. Light spilled boisterously into the Eastward-facing window. Their skin, already hot with sweat and pleasure, was further warmed by the sunlight. 

“Oh, Arthur,” John whimpered, wetting his lips, holding on for dear life. Arthur slid a knee forward for more traction, rapidly approaching the edge. He groaned, “John, I’m about to,” he was interrupted with a frantic, whispered plea, “Me too, don’t stop, don’t stop!” 

Arthur gasped, plunging suddenly over the edge, pressing firmly up against John’s arse. He groaned again, a shudder running up his spine, jerking his hips through each dying wave. Crying out, John threw back his head, still frantically tugging at himself. Before he could wane, Arthur ground his hips down, brushing against that sweet spot inside as much as he possibly could. They held fast to one another, rocking as John shouted out, his release finally spilling between the two of them.

“Oh my god,” the brunet panted weakly, quieting when he was kissed. A moan got caught up in his throat when Arthur’s mouth traveled down and licked the spend off of his chin. “Got a little excited, didn’t ya?”

John closed his eyes, his body falling limp, only his legs still raised as they were held aloft. “You make me excited, Arthur Morgan,” he breathed. 

Arthur on the other hand was getting his bearings, finally laying eyes on the breakfast John had prepared for them. He reached over and picked up a tin mug of coffee, still warm, and sipped it carefully. He chuckled, “Coffee’s always strong when you brew it, Marston.” 

“If you wanted weak coffee...coulda got up and made it yerself,” John mumbled, refusing to open his eyes. In all ways, he was spent. He was on the verge of falling back asleep.

Arthur knew he could fix that. Smiling, he gave his hips a quick jerk. His lover grunted, and pulled open his eyes to gape disbelievingly up at Arthur, “Are you gettin’ hard again already, old man?”

“Second wind.” Arthur smirked, sipping his coffee, giving a minute thrust. John gasped, his whole body tensing, and curling. Stamina wasn’t as important for perilous survival nowadays. They didn’t have to spend weeks on the run with very little sleep. They had the homestead now, so the surplus stamina they had usually went in to extra work around the place…or sex. 

He rocked into him again. A little harder this time, rubbing at the crown of John’s still twitching cock. 

“Ah!” A warning hand pressed against Arthur’s sticky belly. 

He couldn’t help himself, he did it just one more time. 

John arched his back, pushing at Arthur, “Oh, fuck! Please!”

Arthur hummed thoughtfully, and put his coffee back down. Leaning back, he reached down and slowly slid his growing interest out of his overstimulated lover. They let out a collective sigh, shivering. Letting John’s legs down, the blond laid right back down on top of him, looking back at their breakfast. He gave the brunet a few moments to find his equilibrium again after having upset it. 

“Thanks for cookin’,” he said, reaching for the bowl of oatmeal. He placed it right on top of his lover’s chest.

“Better me than you,” John murmured weakly, still panting from the overstimulation. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know I can’t cook worth a damn,” Arthur grunted spooning the lukewarm oats into his mouth. “Mm,” he rumbled appreciatively, tasting the sweet strawberries that they had preserved from the last harvest together.

He looked up to find John’s eyes cracked open again. Staring up at him with a soft, loving smile on his face. He looked like a wonderful mess. His hair was in a disarray against the pillow, drying sweat making some of it cling to his head. His scarred lips and his throat were reddened with kisses and sweet bites. His own spend was drying in between them. 

Arthur took a spoonful of oats and strawberry and fed it to him. He looked real pretty. He always did. 

John licked his lips, and rested his hands on his lover’s flanks. He stroked his fingers along his skin, damp with slowly drying sweat. Arthur’s cock twitched between them. 

God, Arthur loved him.

“Gotta muck out the stalls today.” John rasped, still having the nerve to sound properly satisfied. 

Arthur paused, stared at him for a long moment, and heaved a sigh, “You sure are a romantic, John Marston.” 

“I aim to please,” the man in question chuckled, watching Arthur indignantly eat another spoonful of the sweet oatmeal he’d made for the two of them. “Wish I could say you were a lousy shot,” the blond grumbled back. 

God, John loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and/or kudos! Lovely to hear from you! 
> 
> Also, please no spoilers in the comments for the enjoyment of everyone.


End file.
